


Emerald Solitaire

by OnlyOneKingLoki



Category: Loki - Fandom
Genre: F/M, damn you plot bunnies, here be smut, smut later, you're keeping me from finishing my prompt-based fics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-10
Updated: 2016-02-01
Packaged: 2018-04-03 18:13:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4110340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnlyOneKingLoki/pseuds/OnlyOneKingLoki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The reader finds a relic from the past, but it is much more than it seems.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Damn, I'm getting tired of having these plot bunnies clogging up my mind and keeping me from getting my prompt-based fics done. Those of you that I owe prompt fics to, I promise I'll have them soon. I'm going to try and finish at least one when I'm done posting this one.

My head was spinning and all the colors of the rainbow swirled around me in a strange vortex. _What the hell is happening?_ I thought frantically and could come up with no explanation other than the ring I had just put on my finger. My feet slammed against something solid, and I crumpled to my hands and knees on a polished marble floor. I grunted in pain at the impact and managed to lift my swirling head a few inches. A few feet from me stood a tall, thin man with a shocked expression on his face. His black hair fell to his shoulders in silky waves, and his green eyes flashed with something akin to confusion and concern.

“You’re not Abigail,” he said in a voice like melted chocolate. He took a slow, graceful step toward me as I hauled myself shakily to my feet. “Who are you? How did you—“

He broke off when I reached up to brush some of my hair out of my face with my left hand. Recognition, confusion, pain, and then anger all flitted through his eyes in a flash, and suddenly he had me pinned against a wall, unable to move.

“Where did you get that ring?” He snarled, and I whimpered in fear. “You killed her for it, didn’t you? You killed the woman I love for a piece of jewelry!”

One of the man’s large hands was wrapped around my neck, the heel of his palm digging into my windpipe and forcing me to take wheezing breaths as I shook my head.

“Ab…Abigail was…my gr…great great…grandmother,” I managed to squeeze out, and the man loosened his grip on my throat enough for me to suck in greedy lungful after lungful of air. “Sh-She’s been dead since before I was born. I’m sorry, mister…?”

“D-Dead? Norns…” The man trailed off as he finally released me and took a step back. He looked me up and down and licked his lips before continuing. “How came you by her ring?”

“I’ll tell you, but first I’d like to know where I am and who you are,” I said, trying to sound a lot braver than I felt.

“You do not know?” He asked, sounding rather amused and smirking slightly. “My dear, I am Prince Loki, and this is Asgard.”


	2. Discovery

They say everything happens for a reason, and I can’t help but wonder if all of the strange things that had recently happened to me did too. If I hadn’t lived the events myself, I wouldn’t have believed any of it to be possible. But let me start at the beginning.

One year ago, almost to the day, I was walking my dog though my neighborhood, when I saw a sign for a yard sale. Since I was doomed to spend a day with a mound of papers the moment I returned, I decided to delay my trip back by taking a quick look at my neighbor’s offerings. I led my dog up the driveway and started browsing through the tables my neighbor had set up.

“(Y/n)? Hey! I didn’t expect to see you here,” my neighbor said. Her name was Lisa, and she was one of the most gossipy women in my acquaintance. She was a kind woman, but she was always in everybody’s business. “Oh! I’ve got something I think you might like. And don’t worry. I’m not going to charge you. After all, what are friends for?”

Lisa led me inside and I left my dog, Chessy, in her living room. Up the stairs we went, until we reached her bedroom.

“I found this the other day when I was cleaning out the attic. I know how interested you are in historical artifacts, so I thought you might like to have a look,” she said, and I sat on the bed as indicated. Lisa brought over a small wooden box and sat next to me. She opened its creaky lid to reveal a folded slip of paper, which she handed to me. I was a little hesitant, because it looked so fragile and yellow with age. “Don’t worry. If it can survive my fat fingers, yours will be no trouble.”

I unfolded the little piece of paper and it revealed a note written in beautiful script.

_My dearest Abigail,_

_I do hope that you will wear this. It is a symbol of my love for you and of my remorse about the way our previous meeting unfolded. My love, I do hope you will still consent to be my bride. If you do, then you will no longer carry the name of (y/l/n), but the name of my father before me. You will be a Princess and never have need of your occupation as a servant again. When you’ve made your choice, please put this ring on your finger. Your answer will make itself known to me._

_If you do find it in your heart to forgive me and become my wife, the ring will bring you home._

_All my love – L_

“Aww, how sweet,” I said, and then I reread the woman’s name. “(Y/l/n)? That’s my last name!”

“Yup. That’s why I wanted you to have it,” Lisa said as I examined the ring. It had a thin gold band and a middling sized emerald cut in the shape of an oval. I carefully removed it from the box and looked at it closely. It certainly had the look of a master craftsman’s work. “Oh, there’s also a box of letters I found. They’re all from the same person who wrote the first one: L. I thought you might like them, as well.”

“I…I do, yes,” I said, but I frowned a little when a thought struck me. “You know, I don’t think there was anybody in my family with a name that started with the letter ‘L.’ Oh no! Do you think something tragic happened to him?”

“I don’t know! Oh gracious, I hope not,” she said. She walked from the room and came back with the box full of my ancestor’s correspondence with the mysterious ‘L.’ “I hope you can find the answer, (y/n).”

As I stood and made my way to the door with the box, the ring, and my dog, I started formulating a plan.

\---

For the next eight months, ‘L’ filled my brain. I couldn’t help wondering who he was, where he’d ended up, and what had happened to keep him and my ancestor apart. Apparently, Abigail (y/l/n) was my great great grandmother. Her house had burned down and she’d lost everything but a small safe. I suspected that the safe was where she’d kept the letters and the box with the emerald ring. She’d given birth only a year and half after receiving the letters from her lover, but the man listed as the father was nobody I’d ever heard of. His name was John Treever. He’d never married my great great grandmother, but I suspect that was because he was imprisoned while she was still pregnant on the charge of raping her. When I read that, I felt my jaw drop open. _My family wouldn’t have happened if my great great grandmother hadn’t gotten raped?_ But that still didn’t explain what happened to ‘L,’ and why he didn’t marry Abigail after she’d given birth.

When my research hit a dead end ten months after Lisa had given me the letters, I set the ring on my bedside table along with the box of letters and tried to put it out of my mind.


	3. Dream A Little Dream

About six weeks after I’d put the ring out of my mind, I had a dream. The dream. The dream that sealed my fate and branded me the cat that curiosity killed. That night, I’d fallen into a deep sleep. For all intents and purposes, I was dead to the world.

_The first sound I heard was a man’s moan directly next to my ear._

_“Yes…Oh, darling, yes,” it said quietly. I realized that I was moaning and that I couldn’t stop myself. Hands massaged and groped at my flesh, tugging and squeezing my hips, my thighs, my breasts. Wet lips traveled up and down my neck leaving kisses and nips in their wake. “Mine…You are mine…Always and forever…”_

_“Yours,” I agreed in a shaky voice that came out as more of a whisper. “Please…”_

_The cold voice’s laughter morphed into a moan as I felt my most sensitive flesh being stretched and filled perfectly. I tried to turn my head and look into the eyes of my chimeric lover. His every breath echoed in my ear and my mind, rendering me speechless beyond moans of my own. My behavior began mimicking his own, and I soon realized we were in sync with one another. This felt so perfect, so right. I began to imagine that I’d known no other this intimately, this all-consumingly. It was if he knew every inch of me. He knew how my heart and body fit together, how they formed my very soul. Most of all, he knew how to tear me apart and put me back together._

_“Come back to me…my Abigail,” he groaned as he held me close and kissed my ear._

_“A-Abigail?” I asked weakly, and the man froze against me._

_“This was a mistake,” he said._

Before I could ask him what he meant, I awoke with a start to find myself nude in my own bed. For weeks after, the same man plagued my dreams, but all he would do was stand at the foot of my bed staring at me as if I was some strange species of penguin.

_“Who are you?” He always asked, but night after night I held my tongue._

Every morning when I awoke, I’d think my options through. I could forget the ring, never speak of it again and store it someplace I would never think of it again. I could get an exorcist. I mean, the man in my dreams could be a demon, right? Or I could do the least sensible thing and put the ring on. Wearing it might bring me luck and help me figure out why Abigail never answered the letters from the mysterious ‘L.’ _Maybe wearing it while thinking about it would help_ , I thought one morning as I reached over and picked up the small box the ring was stored in. As I’d already dressed for the day, I decided to compliment my outfit with the ring. The only finger it would fit on was my ring finger of my left hand, so I slipped it on.

And that is how I ended up in the dungeons belonging to one Prince Loki of Asgard. I thought my day would be a normal one, but as the guard turned the key in the lock to the cell door, I supposed not.


	4. Bargain (Loki's POV)

My heart has been torn many times. I am no stranger to heart break. Through the centuries I have become accustomed to pain of the emotional type. However, rarely is it so drawn out and torturous. Ten decades I waited for her, but never did she return to me. Abigail. My darling Abigail. She meant the world to me, and I lost her. Not to drought, or famine, or even a natural disaster. I lost her to time. My own selfish desires pushed her away, and I had not the courage to speak with her face-to-face. A ring. A simple, pathetic ring. That along with a note was all I managed to send her. I do not blame her for not putting it on. It was a small gesture, one that I did not expect her to accept. Somehow I wonder if I meant for her not to accept it...

Whatever my motivation, nothing can be done to change what has happened. Now as I sit next to her descendent I am filled with remorse at the memories which have surfaced. They look so alike, Abigail and this new woman. I have taken her to the dungeons to await her fate. I haven’t the faintest idea of what I should do with her. As reluctant as I am to admit it, she is just as alluring as Abigail, although she is not quite as graceful as my love. I made myself invisible with a simple enchantment and watched her through the glass of her cell. I could see Abigail’s features reflected in her, but there was something else…something…other. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but I was possessed of the notion that I should treat her with care or she could be my undoing.

Then I felt it. It had been so long that I almost didn’t recognize it coming until it hit me. There was a fluttering in my chest: an emotion other than pain. I felt the muscles around my face contorting—not into my usual smirk—into a genuine smile. She was enchantingly innocent.

Much like Abigail was when our flirtations began on Midgard.

I sobered at the thought and my first real smile in years melted from my lips. I remembered when I gave this new woman the dreams that Abigail and I used to share. She was only slightly different, but she was firmly rooted in the present and Abigail in the past. Now was not the time to fall again. Now was the time to grieve for my darling openly. I’d done so silently, not daring to make it real by admitting that she might be gone.

But now it was time. I materialized in front of the girl’s cell, and she let out a small exclamation of surprise. Before she could react beyond that, I turned swiftly on my heel and strode from the dungeon. I made my way through the golden halls and out onto the rainbow bride. The Gatekeeper was on guard alert, and I sighed. No doubt he’d seen what had occurred. I’d have to answer to my father at some point, but I gave not one flying bildgesnipe's shit about it. Odin could gird himself. For now, I had a few questions for the illustrious Gatekeeper of the Nine.

“Heimdall, may I have a word?” I called as I neared his post.

“Yes, my Prince? How may I be of service today? Is it about the Midgardian you’ve transported here without my consent or knowledge?” He asked, and I gave him a cool, tight-lipped smile. _Nothing like the one that woman made me give earlier_ , the thought came unbidden to my mind, and I shook that off quickly. Thinking like that would make me lose my composure.

“Actually, Gatekeeper, I had a few inquiries about a Midgardian woman who lived some time ago during your service. I believe you know the one to which I’m referring,” I said, knowing that Heimdall had been keeping watch over me when I spent all those months on Midgard to quell the unrest. He’d seen nearly everything Abigail and I had done together…nearly, but not everything.

“I do, my Prince,” Heimdall answered seemingly innocently.

“You have lied to me, and I am not amused. Who, may I ask, has paid you to keep silent about her death?” I asked directly, and the man in the golden armor at least had common sense enough to bow his head in shame or sorrow, I could not discern which.

“It was not pay, my Prince. It was blackmail,” he said quietly.

“Who has blackmailed you then?”

“Your father…the king,” he answered with a look I could not decipher. Of course. Father. He did not approve of my relations with Abigail from the start.

“Very well. I feel you owe me a debt for not telling me at least that she had died,” I said playing one of my many available cards.

“And what would that be, my Prince?”

“Since I did not have the chance to mourn her, I ask only that you keep Odin in the dark about my service of mourning for her and the fact that her descendant is here on Asgard. I shall tell you when the service is, that way you can concoct some story to tell the Allfather,” I said as I cleaned some imaginary dirt from beneath a fingernail. “If you do not agree to these terms, then I shall tell the Allfather of your treason. Do you recall? The act for which I protected you and took the blame myself?”

“I-I recall, my Prince. I shall do your will,” Heimdall promised as he knelt subserviently before me. “But if the Allfather should discover you on his own, then I shall not protect you beyond your service of mourning. That is a private matter, but the girl…she is not so easily hidden and I shall not be responsible for her being here.”

“Agreed. I shall send word for the time of my service,” I said and with a sweep of my cape, I swept from the Bifrost back to the palace and my rooms.


End file.
